


Hate

by redtrouble



Series: Demonheart: Through the Eyes of Sir Brash [3]
Category: Demonheart (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 16:27:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15198755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redtrouble/pseuds/redtrouble
Summary: Sir Brash and Bright come together at the war camp, and Brash harasses everyone. (Spoilers! So please play first, read second!) Rated M for mature language.





	Hate

Sir Brash was so busy harassing the ugly, Feline wench that he didn’t even notice when he and Jarlan were no longer alone with her. The girl was full of bravado but no brains to speak of, which would’ve made her a good soldier if she was, in fact, a he and had been raised anywhere other than that poor excuse for a town where everyone was a pussy, regardless of gender.

“You know what we could roast on that fire?” Brash said to Jarlan.

“Eh?” the dwarf grunted, curious.

“I saw a white fawn around here. Seems friendly.”

The wench paled. “Snowflake?” she cried. “No!”

Jarlan burst into laughter. “How clever we are!”

“She even gave the little steak a name,” Brash teased, grinning ear to ear. “Run along then, report us to your boyfriend. I’ll go catch our lunch.”

“No!” she cried. “Please!”

“Snowflake on a stick, coming up.” He turned to look for the white fawn and found a red kitten instead. His grin widened at the sight of her. “Now, now. What do we have here?”

Brash had been told she would be arriving that day but Rosie had sure taken her sweet ass time getting her there. He had been anxious to see her again, wondering what she might be like out from behind those bars. He knew Rose had taken armor for her but to see her wearing it was so much better than he thought it would be. It wasn’t at all obvious in that rag she had been wearing before but her body was fucking spectacular. And without all the dirt hiding her face, he could see she was beautiful. Then there was her red hair, clean and wavy and tousled, hanging over her shoulder.

He could already feel his blood stirring in anticipation for the journey to come, and it was about damn time for him to feel something other than guilt. He couldn’t figure out why he was feeling so guilty but it had been wrecking him since he visited her in prison.

“By da hell, if it ain’t another wench soldier!” Jarlan exclaimed, snapping him out of his thoughts. The kitten seemed intimidated by them but she held her ground, just like she had in the cell.

“Bright,” the wench said from behind him. “Stay out of this, before you, too, become their target.”

“Are ye here ta steal some weapons and pretend ta fight, too?” Jarlan asked.

“Nah,” Brash answered for her, “this one’s not a soldier. It’s my little pussy.” He loved the blush that flushed her cheeks. “So nice and fluffy. We’re up for some really good times…”

Bright looked uncomfortable as her eyes bounced from him to Jarlan to the wench and back to him. “Sir,” she began carefully. “They told me to report to you.”

Oh, he fucking loved her already. Fucking Sir. After being sassed by this crazy Feline wench, her manners were so fucking refreshing.

“I know, sweetheart,” he said, eyes roaming over her figure. “Jarlan, I’ve things to talk with this girl.” He couldn’t wait to get her alone. “Seems you’ll have to take that deer down yourself. You can use the bow, shouldn’t be too difficult.”

“What?” the wench behind him exclaimed. “If you touch Snowflake, I swear I will start a rebellion!” She stomped around to face them, her ugly mug standing between him and Bright. “The two of you will be executed, and there will be a war between Feline and Scarcewall!”

Brash and Jarlan burst into laughter simultaneously. Jarlan was the first to recover.

“Ye sure ye want that?” he sneered, raising her bow in his fist as a reminder of how incompetent her people were. The wench looked too flustered to answer. Brash could give two fucks about her. All he was interested in was the firehair standing behind her.

“Well, Bright girl,” Brash began, “do _you_ want a war with Scarcewall?” He motioned between the girls. “You two gonna start fighting us?”

Jarlan laughed again. “Two Feline pussies against two Scarcewall knights!”

“Of course we don’t want that,” Bright said suddenly.

“Seems you’re alone in that, sweetheart,” Brash said. “Your friend is hellbent on getting all your people killed.” He started toward her, ready to put the mess with the dumb wench behind them, when Bright spoke again.

“Flora, apologize to the knights.”

Brash stopped dead in his tracks and stared at her. He would’ve been less surprised if she suddenly started breathing fire or dancing a merry jig. Jarlan, too, seemed stunned into silence.

Apparently, the ugly girl was shocked, too, because her mouth dropped open and she shouted, “ _What_? Should I say, ‘I’m sorry that you bastards took my family bow and threatened to kill my friend with it’?”

Brash and Jarlan swung their heads from the wench to Bright, wondering what her response would be, wondering how this shocking turn of events would play out.

“No,” she said calmly. “You were disrespectful to your betters. That’s what you should apologize for.”

“And then kiss me below me belt!” Jarlan exclaimed but Brash wasn’t nearly as amused as his friend was. He was intrigued.

“Enough,” Brash growled, even more anxious to be alone with her. “Let’s spare that little shit, if only to please the convict girl. She’s in for some rough times. Don’t want her to start crying so early.”

“Eh, if the stupid ‘archer’ wench cooks me lunch, I’ll forget about her little Snowflake,” the dwarf muttered. “As fer the bow, ye can only have it back if ye can take it from me.”

The wench folded her arms over her chest and huffed. “Fine. I will cook for you…”

“That be the right place fer a wench!” Jarlan exclaimed, heading for the camp. “The food these men are cooking is shit!”

The wench started after him but stopped next to the firehair. “Bright…” she began, and Brash noticed how she stared at the ground. She was Target Practice’s new fiancée, after all, and apparently couldn’t face down his old one. “Thank you, I guess. Dealing with…with…”

“Go ahead,” Brash said with a smirk when the wench glanced over her shoulder at him. “Say what you were going to say.”

She snapped her head back around. “Well, it’s hard to reason with them.”

Bright nodded without looking at her. “Don’t pick any fights, okay?”

The wench look tormented when she raised her head to look at Bright. Brash knew that look well. Guilt. Intense and overwhelming guilt. He had been feeling it, too, ever since meeting this red-haired kitten.

“I never believed what happened with Orchid,” the wench murmured and then hurried away.

Brash waited for Bright to look at him but she didn’t raise her head. He took a step toward her. “So sweet and nice, little kitten. You saved your boyfriend’s new wench.” That got her attention. She raised her head. “And I really felt like having some venison. Is that fair, that I should come to feed you in prison, and now you rob me of my lunch?”

He watched her carefully, wondering if she knew him, waiting for that look of surprise or passive acknowledgment. She didn’t give anything away, just nodded.

“I’m sorry, Sir…”

Brash wondered what to say next. She was so subdued, it bothered him. He understood it had been a lot on her—being accused of murder, executed, imprisoned, dumped, and then dragged to a battlefield—but he wanted to see her get pissed. He was fucking infuriated. Why the hell did she have to die for all those fucking pricks in that pussy town?

“So, how was the muffin?” he asked, crossing his arms. She smiled a little at the ground, at some memory, then peered up at him as if to ask why he was bringing it up. “I thought they weren’t feeding you well in that prison. That’s why I came to visit you.”

“You came just to feed me?” she asked innocently, but there was something about the question that told him she knew it was a lie.

Brash laughed. “You are so cute, it almost makes me sad.” He started walking toward her. “The muffin?”

“Was good,” she replied. Her short answers rankled him. Was she going to make him force a reaction out of her?

“I knew you’d eat out of my palm,” he purred. “All girls like sweets.”

Her face momentarily tensed before she relaxed and nodded. If she felt demeaned, she didn’t show it. He was going to have to try harder.

“It was nice,” Bright said, “to interact with someone who didn’t seem to hate me.”

Brash stopped at her side, towering over her. This close, he could see all the detail in her citrine-colored eyes. They were flecked with amber and gold. How the fuck had that weasely Feline knight won her over? No—fuck that. He didn’t care. How the fuck had that pathetic excuse for a man let her go? He was fucking crazy. Fucking shit-for-brains. It pissed him off.

“Why would anyone hate a pretty little pussy like you?” he asked her. She tried to look away but he caught her by the chin and turned her face back toward his. “That prison guard was fucking blind.” And there it was—a nervous flicker in her eyes. She was intrigued. Scared and angry, but intrigued. He grinned and released her. “Now... I recall that wimpy cat soldier wanted to talk to me. What was his name… Target Practice?”

She made a face and tried to hide it by glancing off into the forest but he saw it. Bitterness. When she looked at him, she only nodded.

Brash snorted. “I think he’s concerned I’ll do something to you once we’re out of here.” She blushed. “Ever got in bed with that loser? I hear you used to be engaged.” He felt the slap before he saw it. He stared at her face, a mixture of anger and hurt, eyes screaming at him. Yeah, it _was_ none of his business. But like hell that fucking mattered. “I’ll know from the way he looks at you,” he muttered and turned. Bright followed him at a distance.

His cheek was stinging but he ignored it. It was a cheap shot, slapping him like that, but no worse than his own. He wondered what the hurt in her expression meant. Had they slept together after all? He just couldn’t figure out how that had happened. Target Practice was such a limp dick of a man and Bright seemed too… _good_ …to initiate it herself. Gods, it made him sick to think there was a possibility they’d fucked.

But then maybe the hurt wasn’t about the question at all but rather the fact that Target Practice had dumped her. In prison, no less. Maybe she didn’t sleep with him, but had she loved him? Truly? Was she just hurt that he had abandoned her when she needed him the most? Abandoned her and then got engaged to her friend in nearly the same fucking breath. The fucking coward.

 _Fuck._ Brash wasn’t sure which thought bothered him more—that she might have fucked him or might have loved him.

He heard the noise of camp before he saw the tents and soldiers. Target Practice was easy to pick out in his bright, white tabard striped with orange and green. He was standing about with a serious expression, one hand permanently affixed to his sword as though he had any cause or skill to use it. Hatred roused his blood and he found himself glaring at the stump of a man as he approached. He wanted to gut him like a pig.

Brash turned his scowl into a smirk. “Sir Target Practice,” he greeted him like they were old friends and the pussy knight spun in his direction, flustered by the nickname.

“Sir Brash,” he said stiffly. Fucker was wound so tight, he _couldn’t_ have slept with _anyone_ in his entire life. “Flora just told me what you Sirs think of women fighting and how you attempted to ‘remedy’ the situation.”

“What?” Brash shrugged. “Don’t bring girls to a men’s camp unless they can hold their own. The wolves won’t be half as considerate.”

“On the subject of wolves,” Target Practice straightened authoritatively, “where were you during the previous battle?”

“Takin’ a piss.”

“Excuse me?”

Brash shrugged. “Your secondary girlfriend”—Target Practice bristled at that—“wandered off in the wrong direction when the battle started. We wanted to send her back to you, but then Jarlan decided to _teach her a lesson_.”

And they were going teach her a fucking lesson. _Someone_ had to avenge the firehair and he was not above such revenge. He was above no sin with the right motivation. And that kitten curled up in that cell, with her red hair and bright eyes and _innocence_ —well, he’d done much worse for far less.

“She got lucky,” Brash continued, “that the bow caught his attention. If she were prettier than a fucking piece of wood, things would have gone worse.”

“So, the rumors of the rapist knights are true,” Target Practice declared disgustedly. “You aren’t even trying to cover it up!” He huffed. “I will relieve Flora of duty for as long as you and any of your friends are staying here!”

“Fine by me,” Brash said easily, his eyes sliding to Bright standing behind him. “This girl here is better…”

Bright looked up at him in surprise. Target Practice came around to see who he was looking at and his eyes widened. Bright avoided looking at him, focusing on Brash as though he were a lifeline. The Feline knight sighed.

“Bright, I am terribly sorry that you still have to participate,” he said and Brash saw the antipathy she was trying to hide, her discomfort growing with every word that came out of that wimp knight’s mouth. “The future of our hometown is at stake. Sir,” he turned to Brash, “if knighthood, or morals, or peace of mind mean anything to you…I would beg you to treat Bright with respect.”

Brash felt his fingers curling into fists. This fucker was actually going to play the hero card and act like he was protecting her? He was just using her situation to feed his own vanity. Look what a valiant and noble shithead he was, _begging_ for kind treatment of his poor little ex-convict fiancée from the evil, rapist knight.

If that’s what he thought, Brash would let him think it. Would let him fucking squirm. Let him wonder what happened to her when he carted her off into the woods on their suicide mission. Would he worry or would he even fucking care once she was no longer around for him to shine his reputation on?

“Of course I’ll be nice to her…” Brash murmured and dropped his gaze to her armored chest, imagining what she looked like beneath. Bright turned away, probably sick of both of them using her, but he couldn’t let it go. He just stared at her ass that looked rather remarkable in those pants. “How could I be bad to a girl who’s so impatient to show me all her body parts?”

He stepped into her as she spun back around, catching her about the waist and pulling her close a little more forcefully than he had planned. The indignation in her expression quickly became a mixture of fear and surprise as she cried out, hands immediately pressing against his arm and chest in an attempt to hold them apart, but he had her. She was too weak to deny him.

Target Practice was gaping at them in disbelief. Brash nuzzled her cheek, her hair, and breathed against her neck. She shivered in his arms and he wanted so badly to take this charade further. His intent had definitely been to fuck with the asshole knight, but touching her like he was had been very much part of the plan, not just a bonus.

“She’s a squishy one,” he murmured, “the poor thing. Should have kept her out of trouble, ‘Sir’.” He glared at the man who was a picture of rage, the hand on his sword shaking. “If she were mine, she’d never go to jail.”

“You’re hurting me…” Bright whispered. He looked into her round eyes then at her inviting mouth and realized with another pang of guilt that he had meant what he said. He would never have let anything happen to her if she had been his to protect… Then Brash loosened his grip and she relaxed a little.

“Please, Sir…” Target Practice ground out. “I need you to behave reasonably.”

Brash smirked. “All right,” he said and released her, “but only since you’re begging to humbly.”

“I hope you intend to obey Lord Second’s orders to the letter, Sir,” he rambled. “Bright is meant to be your backup. I certainly hope you have better tactics up your sleeve than to send _her_ into combat—”

Brash snapped. “You’re a fucking army commander and you haven’t taught your girlfriend how to fight? I’d be ashamed!”

“You heard what I said about Lord Second’s orders, haven’t you?”

“I don’t care what Lord Second ordered _you_ ,” Brash growled. They were making a scene, drawing uneasy looks from all over camp, but he didn’t fucking care. It was time to put this fucker in his place. “I’ve got enough orders already. I’ll do whatever the hell I have to.”

“Getting rid of the witch is the only thing you _have_ to do,” Target Practice argued. “You don’t have to use Bright—”

“You think I’m having fun in this role?” Brash shouted. “A fucking heartless Scarcewall scum, drawing pleasure from dragging little girls around and getting them killed?” He took a step toward him, towering over the man. “Is that what you think?”

But what he really wanted to say was, ‘You don’t get to fucking talk about her—you don’t get to fucking decide anything about her anymore! You threw her away, you piece of shit!’ But he couldn’t. Not in front of her and not with all the men looking on. It was too personal. Why the fuck was it personal?

“I…” Target Practice swallowed hard, uneasy. “I’m glad that you’re not that way, Sir.” He glanced around, self-conscious of the stares coming their way. “Do what you can.” He nodded but refused to make eye contact with either of them. “As soon as you and the men are ready, then.” And he left.

Brash watched him go with a fucking world of regret that he hadn’t beaten the fucker’s face bloody. He looked at Bright with her tangle of red hair standing off to the side with her arms wrapped around herself. She looked left alone in a world that wanted her dead…or at least was content to wash their hands of her.

It confused him and aggravated him how much he suddenly wanted to protect her.


End file.
